Worth
by JustBlossom
Summary: Although Yoon isn't the strongest, fastest, or bravest of Yona's retinue, he's still needed- who else could bandage wounds, make edible food, and keep them all out of trouble? But when torn from the group and faced with his own weaknesses, Yoon begins to lose faith in his friends and himself... Featuring hurt!Yoon, protective!Hak, protective!Yona and lots of hurt/comfort.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: In my files, this story has the label "A pathetic plotless yoon h/c fic." That probably gives you a better idea of the content. If you too love Yoon and want to see him get taken care of rather than take care of the others for once, this fic is dedicated to you.

Rating: T. Warnings for blood, injury, physical abuse. Apologies in advance for the unmerited abuse of a noble and much-loved character. But don't worry. To make up for the hurt, there shall be a hearty dose of comfort.

Thanks go out to littlehappydragon and Hannah for proofreading. Enjoy!

 _Worth_

 **CHAPTER 1**

It's been a long day, and as the sun sinks far below the horizon and still they trudge forward, Yoon knows it isn't about to end anytime soon.

He is more than exhausted; his eyelids keep drooping shut no matter how much he tries to channel his willpower into keeping them open. There is a deep ache running through each of his limbs: his hands, in particular, are wretchedly sore. It doesn't help that he accidentally sliced open a finger while chopping vegetables for tonight's rushed stew— all because he'd been nodding off. And then Jae-Ha and the others had the nerve to _tease_ him about it—!

 _Well, we can't_ all _be untiring, uncowardly,_ unnatural _dragon warriors (plus the Thunder Beast)_ , Yoon thinks snappishly.

Then there is Yona, of course— but Yoon would rather not be compared to the princess either. The girl with an unquenchable spirit and unwavering determination, who shoots two hundred arrows a night to hone her skills so that she might be able to protect her comrades, sacrificing rest and comfort for the sake of others.

In truth, there is something _inhuman_ about Yona herself.

Not that he means it in a bad way. But… travelling among these incredible warriors (not that he'd ever compliment them to their faces), it makes Yoon feel… smaller. Weaker. And oh so completely and utterly _human._

Handsome boy genius he might be—

But he is also failable. Frail. At times it hurts a little to be reminded of it… but right now, he is just too exhausted to run together a coherent thought, much less contemplate his innermost feelings of incompetency.

What he needs is a blanket wrapped 'round him, a campfire at his back, and a nice patch of soft grass to lie on— or even dirt. He isn't gonna complain. At this point, he could probably ignore the presence of a rock or two digging into his back, if he could just _lie down—_

"Look sharp, kid." The low baritone is Hak's, and the words are accompanied by a nudge between his shoulder blades.

"Nngh."

Formulating actual words to reply requires too much energy. He concentrates on lifting one foot up, then placing it down a few inches forward. Breathe. Up. Down. Repeat.

The terrain is rough, and when his foot snags on a protruding tree root he once again feels Hak's hand at his back, steadying him.

He grunts a little, intending to say (with no small amount of snark): " _Don't need your help, Thunder Beast"_ or _"I can walk on my own, thank you very much"_ or maybe even, " _Why don't you try out this little 'helpful gentleman' act on Yona? She might be a bit more appreciative."_

But then Hak's hand slams him between the shoulder blades and he faceplants right into the muddy forest ground before he can even open his mouth.

For a moment he's too shocked to be furious— and Hak whispers, from somewhere to his right, "Stay down, all of you. That patrol's gonna pass by within a metre of us."

 _Ah. Patrol,_ Yoon reflects dimly. The reason they hadn't been able to set up camp as usual that night. The reason he is currently in a faceplant on the forest floor.

It didn't feel nice initially when his face hit the rock-and-stick-laden ground, but now his head feels a bit numb (although a tad warm, and oddly wet on the one side), and the soft dirt squished under his cheek is almost as good as a pillow. Well, he can just lie here and collect himself for a bit, can't he?

Surely they wouldn't… begrudge him… this short rest… _Just until the patrol is past,_ he thinks. _Just… a little… nap…_

It was a sign that he was totally out of it, Yoon reflects later, that he didn't recognize the symptoms of the head wound when he first received it.

—

Yoon isn't sure what happens next.

There's suddenly lots of noise— quite bothersome, really. Couldn't they see he was trying to get a little sleep, here? But no, there was shouting, a few screams, loud heavy footsteps, underbrush being trampled, the clash of metal on metal, that sound he abhors: the wince-worthy _shhlllkk_ of metal piercing flesh.

Wait.

Is that— _his_ flesh?

Sensations reach him but they're all dulled and he doesn't know what's up or down or east or west, only that he thinks maybe the dirt against his cheek has been replaced by air— but what does that _mean?_

He can't figure it out, but now he's wondering if that _shhlllkk_ really was him because something hurts worse than it did before, so much that he wants to scream but then he's plunging down through a darkening abyss, all sensations gone but the rushing wind around him— he expects to hit rock bottom but it's softer, like dropping into a lake, an inky one, and then the water is over his head and he knows no more.

—

When he next wakes, he gets the feeling that he's had a long sleep, but for some reason doesn't feel any better for it.

He forces sleep-crusted eyelids open. The sharp spike of pain that immediately pierces his head makes him shut them real fast.

So, he can cross "vision" off the list of skills in his arsenal. That doesn't leave him unarmed, though. As he waits for the pain of his still-throbbing head to subside, he focuses on his nose, inhaling deeply.

The first thing that hits him is that the woody, damp smell of the forest is gone, replaced by air that's dry and dusty… so he's out of the woods, then. Inside? But there's too much of a breeze brushing up against his skin: his torso is cold and feels… exposed.

Where is his tunic?

He shivers then, and curses the snivelling clothing thieves who brought him here. (Ik-Soo wouldn't approve, but he doesn't care at the moment). He tries to wrap his arms around himself, but finds that they're tied together at the wrist behind his back.

So… he's captured. The situation's a bit worse than he anticipated. Rather than thieves, could it be—

" _Stay down, all of you. That patrol's gonna pass by within a metre of us."_

Oh.

As the memories return to him, his brain sifts through and picks out the important bits: _something wet and warm slicking down the side of his face..._ head wound, he deduces, probably a mild-to-intermediate concussion, based on his headache. That's… not good. Even now, can he truly trust his own mind? His perceptions could be entirely skewed, for all he knows. Concussions are tricky things, but at least… he recognized the condition, right? And he _did_ remember what caused it… pretty much. Doesn't that mean he has most of his wits about him, at least?

But what if he's wrong— he could be confused, or even hallucinating— he remembers years ago when Ik-Soo got a concussion… the priest was out of it for days, saying the weirdest things with slurred words when he could even speak at all— he remembers how worried he was for days on end, and the knot of anxiety in his stomach twisted ever tighter just as it is now, except right now he feels nauseous too— how could he not notice that before? He's breathing faster but the oxygen doesn't seem to reach him— nausea rises in his throat and he feels tears forming— he chokes, then leans over and vomits until there's nothing left in his stomach but acid.

He feels about ready to keel over, so he tries to direct his fall away from the sick-smelling puddle in front of him— and as he shifts, his leg drags against the rocky floor beneath him and—

 _shhlllkk._

Another memory. He barely has time to process what it means— _oh crap—_ before his leg is on fire and he'd scream but his throat isn't working properly.

That's how they find him, trembling on the ground in agony beside a pool of his own vomit, eyes screwed shut, mouth open in a soundless sob.

.

.

A/N: *hides* Sorry to leave things like this. However, hopefully it will appease you to know that this story is in essence already finished, should be about 5 chapters in length, and I'll be updating at least once a week. And I hate to be that guy, but reviews _do_ inspire me to update faster. ;) Thoughts, comments and criticisms are always welcome.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to kyoko194, Juli, and Ghosty-No.7 and Alec for your kind comments! I am happy to present… the next chapter.

Apologies and warnings once again for some violence/physical abuse. Don't worry! I'm gonna make up for it later ;)

 **CHAPTER 2**

His captors must have a sense of decency, because they don't kick him when he's down. By the next time he can form coherent thoughts, he notices a strip of cloth wound around his head and a matching one bandaging his thigh. The one round his leg looks like it used to be blue but now it's mottled brown and red.

That's when he realizes that his eyes are working again, and his head isn't screaming in protest beyond a dull ache that he can almost ignore.

He lifts his chin— and his eyes meet the intense gaze of another.

The man is armoured, muscular— probably around Hak's size, although he doesn't share the Thunder Beast's good looks. He's got a jagged scar running from eye to chin (it could've been fixed with a needle and thread by any competent doctor if he'd gotten treated in time, Yoon notes distantly, but maybe the man likes the look of it. Yoon finds it intimidating enough).

"Feeling better?" the man questions. His voice is a smooth baritone. Yoon just stares, without replying.

"I apologize for before." The man waves a thick, scarred hand. "My men were instructed to keep you alive... I should have specified the condition I needed you in exactly."

Yoon's eyes drop to the ground, and he works to quell the trembling of his fingers. It's never a good idea to let your enemy see how afraid you are.

"You see—" The man pauses, then rough fingers are at Yoon's chin, yanking his face up so their eyes meet once again. "There are some questions I need to ask you."

Yoon breathes. In. Out. Hak, Yona, and the others— they'll be here soon. He'll just do whatever it takes to keep breathing until then, or Yona might kill him herself.

It shouldn't be too hard for a handsome boy genius such as himself to outwit the likes of this mercenary man. He just has to play his cards right.

With that thought, he opens his mouth, and after acting out (what he privately thinks is) a very realistic impression of a person struggling to speak for the dryness of their throat, breaks into a prolonged coughing session that ends only after the man has caved and given him water. He gulps it down, smooth and cool and lovely— not to forget nourishing— and wipes his mouth.

"I have no idea why I'm here," he says. A half-truth.

The interrogation commences.

—

Day Five and the Happy Hungry Bunch plus Dark Dragon still haven't showed up to rescue him.

To make things worse, Scar-face is no longer amused by Yoon's stalling antics. He's stopped smiling every morning when he greets Yoon, stopped bringing water and bread scraps to bribe and reward him with, stopped playing the "nice guy" act. Now, he's quick to threaten, quicker to yell and quicker still to punch. And Yoon has run out of clever bluffs.

He's still got enough brain cells working to understand that things are going to take a turn for the worse if he doesn't receive proper care soon. His stomach stopped grumbling yesterday, but he still feels that gnawing ache inside and the light-headed shakiness that comes from being nutritionally deprived.

 _Please don't forget about me,_ he pleads silently, curled in the fetal position on the stone floor, starless night above him. _Yona… Hak… Jae-Ha— Please._

It's Day Seven when something in him snaps.

What is he thinking, _waiting_ for _rescue?_ The Yoon of times past would never have done something so stupid. He had always looked out for himself, because who else would bother? Even with Ik-Soo, he still had to take care of himself, plus that helpless priest.

So why had he thought things had changed? Why stupidly rely on others to do what must be done yourself? Hak, Yona, Jae-Ha, Zeno, Shin-Ah, Kija— all of them. They aren't coming. He's alone, just like he's always been, and he's been an idiot for thinking otherwise.

 _Side effect of the concussion_ , Yoon says to himself. He also tells himself that the painful twinge he feels in his stomach is simply hunger.

From that point on, through the pounding of his skull, the fire in his festering leg, the unexplained ache in his chest, Yoon begins to plot his escape.

—

He— _he fails._

 _How is that,_ a small part of his mind wonders. The majority of it is too busy experiencing the pain of being crushed by Scar-face's boot.

He'd managed to chew off the ropes binding his arms— and no, he was not Ao, but after he'd convinced Scar-face (in one of the earliest days of their acquaintance, when the man was halfway reasonable) to allow his hands to be tied in front of him, he'd spent two nights gnawing on the ropes. It was one of the most frustrating and disgusting processes he'd ever been through— but ultimately successful. And he paid attention to the guards they placed on him, when they switched, when they dozed off— he'd calculated it all, weighed the outcomes, and put his plan into motion on Day Ten.

Only for Scar-face to decide that a sudden night-time visit would be conducive to getting him to cough up that ever-elusive _information_ about the bandits and their red-haired leader.

A whimper escapes him unbidden as Scar-face's boot grinds harder into his cheek. His head wound has reopened; he can feel warm sticky blood dribbling down his forehead.

Scar-face enjoys poking at old wounds: for punishment, he bets the leg will be next. As much as the coolly logical part of his brain can predict this unflinchingly, another part of him, the scared, reactionary part, twitches and pulls the leg towards himself, to protect it somehow.

As if he could. Sensing the movement, and reading the suppressed fear in Yoon's body language as if he were an open book, Scar-face lifts his boot from Yoon's head only to plunge the steel-toed monstrosity into his thigh with a brutal kick.

Yoon has no chance of holding back the scream, so he doesn't try. There's no one to see him like this anyway, weak and snivelling, shirtless, pale and bruised and sickly thin—

He realizes he's embarrassed. Here, as agony spreads from his leg and head to envelop his entire being, as the logical part of his mind swiftly calculates the amount of hours he has left to live (if that), he's feeling ashamed.

 _Sorry I wasn't good enough to escape, Yona,_ he thinks. _Sorry, Thunder Beast. Sorry for not being strong like you— sorry for not being able to look after myself. I'm sorry, Ik-Soo— you'll have to find someone else to look after you— someone capable— someone strong— someone not like me—_

" _Please,"_ he vaguely hears his own voice choking out words. "Please stop. I swear I— I won't try again— just— _please!"_

Scar-face lands another vicious kick. Yoon cries out, recoils.

"Damn brat."

"Give me a chance— I'll tell you what you want to know," he forces out. He's not sure he can concoct a suitable story at this point, but even if Scar-face doesn't believe it, gets mad again— at least the pain will stop right _now,_ just for a moment.

"Need to teach you a lesson first."

Then Yoon's hair is yanked by the roots— he's pulled up 'til his feet barely touch the ground; he dangles, a pathetic, quivering whelp helpless before a savage predator.

He closes his eyes, as if it will lesson the pain somehow.

That's why he doesn't see the arrow embed itself in Scar-face's broad hand— he only feels the sudden release of his hair and the stone ground as he falls hard onto it.

He doesn't see the next two arrows, immobilizing the closest guards before they can jump to their master's aid. And he doesn't see the silver gleam of the shuriken flying from an outstretched hand before they pin the three men to the ground.

All he feels is the icy-cold breeze against his bare skin, sharp contrast against the fire enveloping his bones.

He doesn't see the running approach of a tall figure, the expressions of horror, fury, deep and painful concern—sharp and poignant _fear._

What he feels is a cloth wrapped loose around his body— _soft-as-silk,_ he thinks— and large, warm hands underneath his knees and shoulders. Then the ground at his back is replaced by empty air, and his face and side come to rest against something solid and warm.

He feels something else: against his ear, the steady pounding of a heartbeat.

And then he hears a voice, and feels the gentle rumble of it through the chest he's leaning on.

"Hang in there, kid."

 _Hak._

A delicate yet calloused hand brushes the bangs from his forehead.

"You're safe now, Yoon. You're safe, we've got you, it's all gonna be okay now."

 _Yona._

He's not sure how much of the words' meaning truly processes, but their gentle and familiar timbre, accompanied by the featherlight touch on his forehead, provide enough comfort.

 _They came._ It's enough to stupefy him. The relief spreading from his core is sufficient to make him melt, relax into the arms of his rescuer, slide into blissful unconsciousness— but there's something he's forgetting— some uncomfortable feeling nagging at his pain-wrung-out mind that spoils the pure relief he should be experiencing.

But before he can figure what exactly it is, or what's causing it, exhaustion has claimed him, and he drifts into blackness.

.

.

A/N: To be continued…

Also I've been wondering, what do people prefer for the spelling of Yoon's name? I've been reading the manga (hence why I spell it Yoon) but in the FF archive they have it as Yun. Is there a general fan consensus or do people just go for either? I'd love to hear your thoughts.

À la prochaine ;)


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry this is a bit later than usual. What can I say… university has taken over my life. Even now I really ought to be studying, but... this is so much more fun.

Thanks a bunch for your comments! I really appreciate them. Enjoy!

.

 **CHAPTER 3**

" _It doesn't look good."_

The cloth is lifted from his skin. Three sharp intakes of breath follow.

" _Hak, what do we do?"_

He shivers. The air brushing against his torso seems bitingly cold, and he wishes desperately for the cloth again. However, there's a disconnect between his limbs and brain, so instead of a grab for the blanket, all he manages is a feeble twitch.

" _I've sent Jae-Ha into town to find the nearest physician— the less we move him the better, at this stage."_

A brief pause. Then, quietly, from a distance:

" _He looks... cold."_

" _You're right, Shin-Ah. Hak, do you mind if we keep using your cloak?"_

" _Don't ask stupid questions."_

" _Right. I'll go get some blankets as well."_

The cloth is wrapped around him again, and he snuggles into it gratefully. If only the flames devouring him from the inside would cease, he'd be perfectly comfortable.

Footsteps, then the rustling of cloth.

" _Zeno, get a fire started, and Kija, fill a pan with some water and heat it. Princess, scrounge up some ingredients to make a simple broth for him to drink. I'll need some of the water left alone so I can clean his wounds, though."_

" _Okay!"_ A three voice chorus, then more footsteps. For a long time, things are quiet. More blankets are tucked around him— but now that he can no longer feel the icy sensation of the air, the burning pain lacing through his limbs and head becomes even more prominent.

Then a warm hand is beneath his head, tilting it up while another holds his nose shut. Warm liquid is dribbled into his mouth, sliding down his throat without resistance. A detached part of him notes absently that the flavouring isn't too good _(he would never have paired those two herbs together_ ) but he doesn't have the strength to pull a face. Besides, any taste at all is better than nothing.

After that, small fingers wrap around his hand, thumb rubbing soothing circles over his skin.

" _We were really worried about you, Yoon. I'm— I'm sorry it took us so long to find you. I-I wish—"_

" _Princess…"_

Some quiet sniffling sounds, then a deep indrawn breath.

" _But it's okay now, 'cause we found you. And you're gonna be alright— do you hear me, Yoon? Without you, we'll all probably starve from Hak's horrible cooking—"_

A cough.

" _It's true! So, Yoon, just focus on getting better, okay? Whatever you need, just tell me and I'll get it for you. And don't worry, cause we're all here— me and Hak, Kija and Shin-Ah and Zeno— and Jae-Ha will be back right away with a doctor. You'll be feeling better in no time."_

The soothing timbre of her voice nearly distracts him from noticing the warm, damp cloth being pressed against his head, then the long strip of cloth wound around— his leg receives the same treatment, then the blankets are peeled back momentarily and he shivers as the various scrapes all over his torso are gently cleaned…

All throughout the process, Yona's voice soothes his ear as her hand holds his in a soft but firm grip. Eventually, he's lulled back into a state of near-unconsciousness, but as he slips away he hears the two voices for one last time.

" _I've done all I can."_

A pause. _"What now?"_

" _We wait. And— hope."_

The last sensation he feels before unconsciousness claims him once again is Yona's grip on his hand tightening infinitesimally.

—

The next time Yoon surfaces from the depths of sleep, he actually manages to open his eyes.

He's greeted with a never-before-seen-nor-desired-to-be-seen close-up of Hak's face.

"Oh," Hak says, all monotone. "You're awake."

He leans back so they're no longer nose to nose, and Yoon sighs in relief.

"What were you—"

"Just checking your head wound," Hak says, tapping his own skull for emphasis. "So… how ya feeling, kid?"

Yoon doesn't mince words. "Like I've been beaten and starved within an inch of my life."

"Ah." Hak's expression looks momentarily pinched. "I guess that's reasonable."

Yoon tries to sit up, fails, and slumps, embarrassed. But then Hak comes over, wordless, and props him into a seated position (just furthering Yoon's mortification). For a moment longer they just look at each other.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" Yoon finally asks. He and Hak don't talk much, really, except to commiserate over the stupidity of the four dragons or figure out the map together (basically, a strictly business relationship).

Hak raises an eyebrow. "Nope." He leans back against the tent wall, arms crossed behind his head. "I'm just doing my job. We're taking shifts watching over you."

"Oh."

"So just let me know if you need anything, okay?"

"...okay."

There's silence for a couple moments more.

"You look thirsty."

"Uh—"

Hak's already leaning out of the tent.

"Hey White Snake, get some water for the patient!"

Oddly, Yoon can't make out Kija's usual reply at the use of his hated nickname.

"He'll be back soon," Hak informs, then resumes his relaxed position of before. He's still watching Yoon, though, and Yoon is beginning to feel a tad uncomfortable. It would be natural for Hak to lurk like a vulture at Yona's side when she was injured; she's a girl, after all, and Hak is still hopelessly in love with her. But when it comes to Yoon— where's that typical attitude of " _he'll be fine, he's stronger than you think_ "?

Yoon kinda misses it. Being treated like that— it showed that he was worthy of being in the group, that he was capable, he didn't need to be babied.

Yoon stares down at his lap, fists clenched.

What now? He's already proven that he's helpless, incompetent, needs rescuing—

And he's momentarily distracted… _What is that smell?_

Yoon raises a bandaged arm to his nose, sniffs.

 _Clove… and lavender? With a bit of chamomile, if he's not mistaken._

"Who wrapped this?" he asks. Upon closer examination, the strips of white cloth layered over his arm are speckled with leaked-through greenish spots. So they applied a medicinal paste... It's not one that Yoon would have made himself, but the clove would help disinfect things, he supposes, while the chamomile eased the bruising, and the lavender helped a bit with both.

"Jae-Ha brought in a doctor from the nearby town. That was three days ago, I guess you probably don't remember. You were pretty much out of it."

"Doctor?" Now that Yoon thinks about it, he can remember vague mentions of a doctor, as part of Yona's reassurances. But—

"Isn't that dangerous?" he demands. "Letting them know where we're camping— not to mention _expensive."_ He holds his head in his hands. "What were you guys _thinking?"_

He isn't expecting Hak's fist to hit his relatively-uninjured shoulder.

"Idiot. If Yona was hurt in some way you couldn't fix, you wouldn't hesitate in spending the money for a doctor."

"Yeah, but—"

"But?"

Yoon looks down again. "Yona's Yona. I'm— well, I'm _me_."

"What do you—"

" _Yoooon_! I brought your water!" Kija barges into the tent with a wide smile, and, using his non-monstrous hand, places a wooden cup in Yoon's hand.

"Oh. Thanks, Kija."

"Do you need any help to drink it?" Kija asks innocently.

Yoon wrinkles his nose. "No way. I'm fine."

"Okay. If you need any help just let me know! I'd be happy to assist you in any way, Yoon."

"Oh—Okay."

Kija only smiles once more, and heads back outside with a wave.

Yoon frowns. Kija's always been polite, but this level of kindness is freaking him out.

"Hey… Hak—" _What's up with him?_ he was going to ask, but then again— Hak's been acting a little strange too.

"Need some help?" Hak asks emotionlessly.

"Huh? No!" Yoon insists. _Yeesh, it's not like he's a little child._

"Then why haven't you drunk it yet?"

"I'm just—I—" Unfortunately, that's when Yoon realizes his hand isn't obeying his brain's command to _lift._ He glares at it, struggles—

"Your hand is shaking."

"Shut up. I just need to— build up a little strength."

"Right, right."

 _Could that idiot sound any more sarcastic?_

Yoon rests his elbow on his lap and centres his focus on the insubordinate hand. _Rise. Obey me, you stupid limb!_

 _Yes!—_ Up it comes, quivering only slightly, bringing the cup to his lips— but then it stops, having only reached chest level. Yoon glares down at his elbow, which, stuck resting on his leg, is preventing his arm from reaching any higher. The worst thing is, he doesn't think he can move it without spilling the entire cup.

His raised hand begins to shake a little more— water sloshes around inside the cup, ready to spill—

A large hand snatches the cup from his trembling fingers before a drop can fall. Yoon looks up to find Hak watching him again. He can feel himself turning red and wishes he could stop it.

"You and the Princess could be twins," Hak says. "And by that I mean you're both stubborn idiots."

Yoon can't think of a sufficiently snarky reply in time.

"Open up."

"No way. I'll do it myself."

"Kid, I think you just proved that you can't do it yourself."

"Well, I—"

"Just shut up and drink."

Hak holds the cup to his mouth and he drinks, and wishes he could die at the same time.

"You'd prefer this if I were the Princess, wouldn't you?"

Yoon nearly chokes. Hak pulls the cup away, and he manages to get out, "You'd no doubt prefer it if _I_ were Yona, too."

Hak looks a mixture of surprised and embarrassed for the briefest of moments before he starts chuckling.

Yoon just watches him, not sure whether to be mostly embarrassed, or angry, or maybe just—

"Hey… Hak?"

"Yeah?"

"...sorry." His gaze falls to the tent floor.

"Huh?"

"Sorry... for being so much trouble."

He's surprised when he feels a fist sock him on the shoulder again.

"For someone who constantly labels himself as a genius, you really are a total idiot sometimes."

Hak leaves after that, promising to send in Zeno, who'll no doubt provide a distraction with his general talkativeness… but in the quiet moments before the Yellow Dragon enters, Yoon still can't figure out what exactly Hak meant, no matter how often he turns it around in that brilliant young mind of his.

.

.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy h/c as much as I do. ;) I'll try to update sooner this week; probably Friday (in celebration of being done my Spanish midterm… yay).

Thanks again for your continued support :)


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Hello again, and welcome to the penultimate chapter… I think I'll be ending this story off with Chapter 5, which I'll be editing and posting later this week.

Once again, thanks to all of you who left comments! They really inspire me to keep writing. Enjoy!

.

 **CHAPTER 4**

It's midday on Yoon's sixth day since being rescued when he realizes something rather embarrassing…

(It's not that he's trying to count the days this time… he's not even sure how he managed to keep track of the number during his captivity— maybe counting them somehow gave his subconscious hope that the situation was temporary, a simple matter of completing the quota of hours and days, and then it would be over.

But then, why is he still counting, even now?)

It's during one of these moments, when he's wrapped up in thought, over-analyzing some element of what has happened in the past fortnight, when he notices it. The embarrassing thing.

He's wearing Hak's cloak.

And has been for several days now, by the look and smell of it. He could kick himself for not noticing sooner— what did he dismiss it as previously, an oddly shaped blue blanket?!

He's outside; maybe the sunlight is what made a difference in his cognitive capabilities. Jae-Ha, who carried him out of the tent, is still here, leaning against the tree beside him, now looking down with interest.

"Why are you suddenly staring at that innocent piece of fabric like you want to throw it in the fire?"

Yoon doesn't bother looking up. "This— this is Hak's cloak." He tugs at the sleeves a little. His strength has been improving these past couple of days. He has trouble walking yet, but wrangling himself out of a couple of cloak sleeves can't be too difficult—

"Ah, so you hadn't noticed before. He _has_ been walking around without it for the past week..."

Yoon can practically hear the raised eyebrow through Jae-Ha's tone.

"Well, I… I— ugh. I wasn't thinking."

To his surprise, Jae-Ha chuckles lightly. "No one expects you to be the kid genius _all_ the time, you know."

"Hm." Yoon doesn't really know how to answer that, and besides, he's busy.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Taking it off, obviously." The process is a little more difficult than Yoon anticipated. Now that he's gotten the sleeve over his hand, his arm's gotten a little tangled up inside— and now, his stupid limbs are beginning to quiver again.

He hisses out a sigh between clenched teeth.

"Hold up." Now Jae-Ha's crouched down in front of him, placing a restraining hand on his shoulder. "As your current assigned watchdog, I'm afraid I can't allow you to do that."

"Oh, shut up."

Jae-ha fakes offense. "Is that any way to treat your betters, kid?"

"My betters?" Yoon scoffs. "Look, just let me take this thing off, and I'll—"

"No can do, I'm afraid. You're supposed to stay bundled up."

"Whose orders?" Yoon scrunches up his nose in annoyance.

"Careful, Yoon, your insubordinate side is showing," Jae-Ha says, still wearing an insincere smile. Yoon just scowls more, and continues struggling with the sleeve— until Jae-Ha leans over and manhandles his arm back into it, then sets both of Yoon's hands in Yoon's lap. He has no choice but to admit defeat.

"You're so ridiculous sometimes."

"But it's Hak's—"

"Hak is just fine without it. Besides, that's not the real reason you want it off. You're just trying to salvage your pride— but if you want my advice: give up now. No one's about to stop babying you any time soon. In fact, I think they're rather enjoying it."

Yoon's fists, still in his lap, clench tighter and tighter with every word out of Jae-Ha's mouth. "You— I— Th— Just— just shut up!"

The sudden rush of fierce anger infuses his limbs with strength. He forces himself to his feet, propels himself forward, away, somewhere Jae-Ha can't follow. What is this? They're _enjoying_ treating him like a baby? Like this helpless, pathetic child who can't do anything? And what happens— what happens when they realize it's true, that he _is—_ he _is_ helpless, he _is_ pathetic— he's useless and they might as well just get rid of him already because he's just a shaking, pathetic whelp, quivering before Scar-face's wretched steel-toed boot, begging for mercy as the cold bites into his flesh and his head pounds and he's on fire, in agony and it's never gonna end cause they aren't coming why would they he's always been alone and he always will be—

" _You deserve this, you filthy brat. So just shut up and take it like a man."_

"I know, I know, I know, I know, I know," he whispers fervently, as if the chant could drown out the cruel voice tearing into his head. " _Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry..."_

"Hey, what are you apologizing for— I'm the one who should be apologizing, I— Yoon, are you listening to me? Can you— can you hear me? Yoon? _Yoon?!"_

" _Agh!"_

He feels the briefest sensation of a stake being driven through his thigh before he blacks out again.

—

" _Jae-Ha, what happened?"_

" _Is he okay? Should Zeno do something? Should Zeno get a doctor?"_

" _Just be quiet, Zeno. Hey kid, can you hear me?"_

" _He's completely out."_

A long pause.

" _What triggered it?"_

" _He got up, he was trying to walk, pretty fast— I think he hurt his leg."_

" _Makes sense. With pain that extreme, it's not unusual that he'd black out again."_

" _But… there's more to it. He… he was upset, something I said made him mad. When he got up, he was muttering to himself— some nonsense, "sorry, sorry" over and over— and when I tried to talk to him, it was like he wasn't there."_

" _What the hell did you say to him?"_

" _Relax, Hak— it wasn't anything special… we were just having a normal conversation. Well, he was embarrassed about wearing your cloak all week— tried to take it off but I stopped him. Then I mentioned how everyone's been babying him lately— Oh, I told him to forget his pride and just accept that everyone enjoys looking after him. That's when he got mad."_

" _Is that so…"_

" _I wonder what's going through his head right now… Poor Yoon."_

" _No use crying over it now, Princess. Help me get some fresh bandages and we'll re-wrap his leg."_

The voices disperse and fade out…. Yoon sinks into a deeper level of dreamless sleep— but something tugs him back to the edge of consciousness. There's a voice… and the faint press of a hand on his shoulder.

" _Hey Yoon… I don't know if you can hear me right now, but don't be mad. What I said that upset you— I take it all back. Just focus on getting better, alright?"_

The request sounds reasonable enough at his current state of awareness (or lack of). But Yoon can't find the strength of body or will to open his eyes and nod.

.

A/N: Sorry to leave things off with more angst and less comfort… but I promise you, resolution is coming!

Until next time!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: So here we are… already at the last chapter. It's twice as long as the others (basically because I couldn't find a good place to cut it) so I hope you enjoy!

.

 **CHAPTER 5**

Yoon blinks open bleary eyes and Jae-Ha's smiling visage swims across his vision.

 _What a pain,_ he thinks dimly.

"Hey Yoon, how're ya feeling?" the Green Dragon asks, with an exuberant good-naturedness that seems over the top. This is Jae-Ha they're talking about, after all. "Good-natured" is hardly the choice term Yoon would use to describe him.

Yoon turns his back on Jae-Ha— a feat accomplished simply by rolling over. His leg twinges a bit, but other than that he feels comparatively good. Overall pain has faded to the level of a dull, unobtrusive ache. His head, too, feels markedly improved. He reaches up to still find bandages circling his head, but he can feel no dampness through the cloth. It's a relief— although he knows concussions are tricky things and he should still—

"...like that, and— _Yoon,_ are you listening?"

Jae-Ha's been talking this whole time, apparently. Yoon doesn't reply. He has the feeling that he should be annoyed at Jae-Ha, although he can't remember exactly why.

He's just beginning to worry about this slight memory loss when he tugs the blanket encircling him tighter and notices the colour.

 _Hak's—_

Everything rushes back.

He's about to— well, he doesn't exactly know _what_ he's going to do, but then Yona bursts into the tent and Yoon tilts his head to see her, red hair wild, colour rising to her cheeks as she pants. "Jae-Ha— patrol— too many— have to leave" she manages, then draws in a large breath and kneels to start shoving items into a travel pack. She's got her bow and quiver strapped across her back. Jae-Ha starts to help her; Yoon tries to sit up and help too, but an involuntary audible wince escapes him and in a flash Jae-Ha is at his side, supporting him.

"Wha—" _What are you doing, idiot?_ he starts to say, but Yona speaks again, tone urgent. "We'll meet at the waterfall place. You'll need this—" she hands the now-filled pack to Jae-Ha, who stands, swinging it onto his back. "I trust you to look after him," she says, then darts out of the tent, hands already grasping the bow at her back.

Before Yoon can decode Yona's last command, Jae-Ha has scooped him off the ground like a swooning maiden— an action which Yoon most certainly does _not_ appreciate— and is out of the tent and in the air with a powerful leap in the next moment.

"Well, this is cozy," he remarks with a smarmy grin, looking down at Yoon.

Yoon shoots a death glare at him, and focuses on trying not to be sick. He knows Jae-Ha's being as gentle as possible, but every impact on the ground between jumps sends a jolt of pain up his leg, unsettles his stomach, and sets his head to spinning.

It's not spinning fast enough to banish all unwanted thoughts from his mind, however. He can't help but think of Yona, Hak, and the others, fending off the patrol, risking life and limb, while Jae-Ha whisks Yoon off to safety like some sort of damsel in distress.

Well, even if he wasn't incapacitated, he's never been much of a fighter— but still. At least he'd be there, alongside them, ready to clean and bandage their wounds, and scold them when they pushed themselves too hard.

The way things are now…

He is completely helpless, useless… worthless.

 _You're just trying to salvage your pride— but if you want my advice: give up now._ Jae-Ha's words echo suddenly in his memory, and he remembers trying and failing to struggle out of Hak's coat, the hot flush of shame as he was manhandled back into it.

He's still being manhandled, he notes, and it's no less embarrassing as Jae-Ha pulls him in even closer to his chest. He makes a sound of protest, but soon realizes the reason— when he's shocked by a sudden wall of cold and wet and realizes they just passed right through a waterfall.

"Sorry, Yoon," Jae-Ha says, as he finally lands for good and sets Yoon (drenched, shivering, and utterly miserable) on the cave floor. He shakes his head— rather like a dog, Yoon thinks— and water droplets fly from his green hair and spatter over Yoon, who glares.

"Ah, sorry again," the Green Dragon says, and he almost sounds sincere.

After they've both changed from their wet clothes— Yoon finally gets to be rid of Hak's cloak, and he tries to focus on this spot of positivity as he suffers the thoroughly embarrassing process of being dressed like a child. Jae-Ha changes his bandages, and Yoon discovers that the bag Yona had hurriedly packed for them was full of things for Yoon— clothes and strips of bandages and jars of medicinal pastes.

Then they wait for the others to arrive.

Yoon leans against the cave wall and silently counts the pebbles scattered across the ground. Jae-Ha paces by the waterfall entrance for a while, but eventually crosses the cave and slides down the wall next to Yoon.

"You're mad at me?" he says, half like a question.

Yoon doesn't turn his head. "Not really," he finally says.

"Ah, I see."

They sit in silence for several moments more.

"So, if you're not mad…"

"I'm not!" Yoon feels the need to interject.

"Then why don't we have a little chat?"

"Isn't that what we're doing?"

Jae-Ha brushes his bangs back from his forehead in that peculiarly annoying way of his. "As long as you're willing to participate, Yoon, dear."

Yoon glares. "Don't call me that."

"So you _are_ mad at me."

"Wha— Do you want me to be?"

Jae-Ha's gaze turns serious. "What I said before upset you. I'm trying to figure out why."

"It doesn't matter. It's fine now. Just forget about it."

"Ah, but Kija won't be satisfied with that," Jae-Ha says.

"What does Kija have to do with this?"

"He's worried about you, obviously. Just like everyone."

"You shouldn't bother," Yoon says, tucking his face into his knees. His eyes dart over to the cave entrance, and the shimmering curtain of water that hides it.

Jae-Ha's talking again. "Something I said, it made you remember, right? Those bastards who captured you, the… stuff that happened. Am I right?"

Yoon's eyes find some pebbles on the cave floor. He counts them, _seven eight nine—_

Day ten, the botched escape plan, Scar-face's taunting words, his leg erupting in fire. He screws his eyes shut and tries to breathe.

He feels a tentative hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, Yoon…"

But he doesn't want to talk.

As he watches, blurry shapes appear behind the waterfall's curtain, and five figures cut through the pouring water, one after the other. Jae-Ha leaps to his feet, and Yoon is momentarily pleased that their conversation has ended. But then he realizes the state the others are in and his happiness is snuffed out.

"Hak!" he calls out, and his hands scrabble against the cave wall, trying to push himself to his feet, so he can run over and assess the damage. He's barely managed to get his weight on his good leg when Hak shoots him a look from under the dark bangs plastered to his forehead. "Yoon, stay where you are."

He's one to talk, holding his side and staggering like a drunk. His formidable spear has been relegated to use as a crutch, and with every passing second the patch of red staining his torso grows ever wider beneath his hand. Kija hovers at his side, like he's been trying to help but likely been rebuffed.

Jae-Ha reaches Hak's other side and together the Green and White dragons help lower him down against the cave wall, a good five metres from Yoon's reach. He narrows his eyes.

Behind Hak, Yona has Zeno's arm slung over her shoulders, and the Yellow Dragon is limping, but he waves her off, saying cheerily, "Zeno is fine, healing fast, no need to worry."

Even Shin-Ah has something off in his gait. He's bleeding from a few minor scrapes along the arm, but Yoon is sure there's other damage, hidden— on all of them. He knows from experience.

But Hak— Hak is the one who needs Yoon's help the most, right now. Dignity means nothing when one of your friends is bleeding out from a stab wound and you're the one with the most medical know-how. Yoon begins to crawl, careful to hold his injured leg high above the ground where it might be jarred or scraped.

It's slow progress, and he has to keep his eyes on the ground, breathing heavily, but he makes it, drags himself to a seated position at Hak's side, and lifts his head to find everyone staring at him.

He scowls. "What?"

Hak is the only one scowling right back at him. "I thought I told you not to move."

"Last I checked, you're not the one who's in charge around here." They both glance to Yona, in sync.

She's clasping her hands unsurely in front of her and worrying her lower lip. There isn't time to waste so Yoon doesn't. He pulls open the front of Hak's shirt and assesses the damage. It's a puncture wound, about two inches across, he guesses, but it's hard to tell under all that blood.

"Can someone get me my medicine bag? And a clean cloth. And it wouldn't hurt to get a fire started— and boil some water," he orders. He hears them begin to move about behind him, and trusts they're doing as he asked. At the moment, all his concentration is needed to keep the hands untying the sash at Hak's middle from shaking.

"You're not in any shape to be doing this, kid," Hak says lowly. Yoon ignores him. The medicine bag has been placed at his side, and he reaches a careful hand over to open it— but another hand catches his.

"Yoon," Yona says softly, and he freezes. When he raises his eyes to look at her, she's blazing with determination. "You can't."

 _What?_

His eyes narrow, his hands begin to quiver again and he can't stop them. But he balls them into fists anyway. "You've got to let me."

"I can't."

"But—"

"No, Yoon. You're still hurt! You need to be resting, you can't strain yourself. The rest of us are perfectly capable of taking care of Hak."

 _That's what he's been afraid of. This whole time— because he knows, yes, they are perfectly capable, and that's why he's superfluous, unnecessary, a weakling, a dead weight they'd be better off without, completely and utterly_ useless. Worthless.

The shaking has intensified. He has to keep his eyes peeled open so he won't see Scar-face's twisted grin. "No."

"Yoon—"

"We're wasting time and Hak's bleeding out over here!"

"It's just a scratch," Hak butts in, and Yoon would've given him a nice solid punch for that bit of untruthfulness, but he is injured after all.

" _Yoon,_ you're shaking!"

He glares at her. " _No._ " He rummages into the medicine bag, pulls out a swath of sterile cloth to press against the wound—

"Jae-Ha," Yona says, and suddenly strong arms have pinned his own arms to his sides. Yona takes the cloth from his pathetically weak fingers and presses it against Hak's side. She looks back at him gently. "Please rest. We all just want you to rest."

No. They don't understand. "Let me, please, you have to let me do this!" he says, voice cracking embarrassingly. He fights against Jae-Ha's hold, who grunts in concern.

"Yoon— wh—"

"If I can't do this, I'm useless!"

They all stare. He blinks rapidly, chest heaving. "It's the only thing I _can_ do."

And now— his vision blurs and he blinks harder, fighting against tears that seem determined to slip past his defenses. He will _not_ cry in front of them. He will not look any weaker than he already does.

"Oh, Yoon." Yona's in front of him, reaching out a hand. "You can't think that we would— You must know that you're—"

But he can't look up, can't meet her eyes. All he wishes is that he could evaporate into the air like the waterfall's mist— but instead, he feels warm arms slip 'round him, and Yona's head presses into his shoulder, and he's never felt more solid. Present. Then Jae-Ha's grip on his arms relaxes, and he finds himself being hugged on two fronts— then four, as Zeno and Kija join in; even Shin-ah gives him a little pat on the shoulder, which is worth a thousand hugs, in Yoon's opinion.

His eyes drift closed, and no unwelcome memory flits over the backs of his eyelids to taunt him. How can Scar-face be here, when he's surrounded on all sides by warm and gentle arms and soft words?

"Yoon, you're not useless, never useless— I don't want you to ever think such a thing!" Yona speaks into his shirt front, and the words seem to seep through and loosen something that was tight before in his chest. "We need you, we all need you. So, just this once, let us take care of _you."_

"Stupid," Yoon says (he is most definitely _not_ sniffling), "that's supposed to be my job." The group chuckles, he feels their arms tighten minutely around him, and then he remembers what he should have never forgotten. "Hak! I've got to—" He wriggles partially free of the tangle of limbs and finds the Thunder Beast looking at him wryly.

"I'm hardly helpless," he grunts. With one hand he's pressing a cloth to the wound while the other rummages through Yoon's bag in search of ointment. "I've dressed plenty of my own wounds before," he adds, reading the doubt in the angle of Yoon's eyebrow.

"That doesn't mean you've been doing it properly." Yoon leans forward, fingers stretching for the jar of ointment, but he's stopped by Yona's hand on his shoulder and a gentle reprimand. "Yoon…"

He huffs. "Fine." From the corner of his eye he can see a few sighs of relief at his acquiesce. "I won't do any work. But there's no reason I can't give you some instructions while just sitting here."

He glances around. They're all smiling— even Shin-ah's mouth has a slight lift at the corners. And Jae-Ha is chuckling in that obnoxious way of his. "Can't miss a chance to play mother hen, can you, Yoon?"

Yoon scowls, more from habit than anything else. Jae-Ha's comments don't seem quite as annoying as usual, nor does his unasked-for help (lifting Yoon like a child from the centre of the group and depositing him gently at Hak's side). There, Yona fusses over Hak's wound while he insists he can take care of it himself and Yoon scolds both of them while instructing how to do these things _properly._ In the meantime, the others occupy themselves with building a fire so the group can begin to dry off their waterfall-soaked clothing.

Once Hak is bandaged up to Yoon's exacting standards, the other dragons take turns submitting to Yona's ministrations and Yoon's somewhat bossy instructions. It's a good thing he doesn't have to move much, he admits to himself, because his limbs do feel rather heavy and his head light. The warmth from the now-crackling fire only adds to the slow lethargy spreading through him.

There's a buzz of conversation and laughter filling the cave, soothing to the ears like the rush of the waterfall outside. The noise lulls Yoon into a near-doze, his chin tipping forward and his eyelids drooping shut— til he notices Yona trying to apply crushed yarrow to Shin-Ah's bruises and he jerks awake with a warning. Doesn't anyone know that yarrow is meant only for open cuts? Seriously, they'd be helpless without him… probably start pouring willow bark tea on their wounds… or treating headaches with… _ow._

He wasn't aware he was leaning back until his head clipped the rock wall behind him. But even now he can't summon the energy to lift a hand to the back of his skull to probe for damage. He'd rather just… close his eyes, and…

He blinks blearily when he feels a hand at his head, threading under his hair to press gently at the— _ow_ — sore spot. He blinks a little more rapidly when it computes that it's not his hand.

"No permanent damage," comes Hak's voice, gruffly. And the (rather large, Yoon notes) hand tugs a little and Yoon's head comes to rest on something a little softer and warmer than the rock wall. A shoulder.

He could pull away, annoyed and embarrassed and "I'm comfortable enough with the rock to lean on, thank you very much." But for some reason Jae-Ha's words come drifting back to him through the murmur of water and conversation: _"You're just trying to salvage your pride. But if you want my advice, give up now."_ And instead of the rush of anger, and shame, and fear that those words inspired before, Yoon feels only a wry sort of acceptance. Jae-Ha isn't wrong _all_ the time.

He leans further into Hak's shoulder and gets comfortable.

And it isn't long before Yona lets out an unladylike yawn and curls up at Yoon's other side, and Zeno settles in beside her, hands behind his head. Then Kija approaches and drapes something over them— a large cloth, still warm from the fire. Yoon peeks through his lashes at it and realizes it's _blue._

Hak's cloak— again— it seems he can't escape. Well, whatever. He's got other things to worry about than borrowing clothing, like how he's going to replace the poultices and bandages they used up today. And how he's going to scavenge ingredients to make a meal of decent quality for once. Of course, that might have to wait a bit, until he's got a bit more of his strength back— but honestly, the longer the group has to endure Hak's cooking, the more they'll appreciate Yoon's meals in future.

That lingering tightness in his chest he'd been carrying for what seemed like ages has vanished, and it's all too easy to drop off into a contented and finally peaceful sleep. One final thought surfaces before he slips away, and brings the slightest smile to his lips:

 _They really would be lost without him._

FIN

.

.

A/N: Thanks for sticking with me through this one, and I hope this fulfilled all (or at least some) of your Yoon h/c needs.

If anyone's interested, fun fact about the writing process for this story: I started it in July 2015—wrote the first three chapters, and then let it sit around for months, occasionally adding a couple hundred words when I had the inspiration or just forced myself to work on it. The last half of this chapter I wrote just recently, in a final bid to finish the thing off. I'm actually so proud to have finished this, my first complete multichap *wipes tear*

I am curious, though, if people noticed a difference in my writing style throughout, since it was written over a long time period. Any thoughts you'd like to share are welcome, about this or anything at all. :)

À la prochaine!


End file.
